


600-Grit Sandpaper

by Arukou



Series: Tumblr Archive [34]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Kid Fic, M/M, Parental Panic, Skinny!Steve, Stony Bingo, get-together, past death of a parent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-07-25 13:35:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7534702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arukou/pseuds/Arukou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve's recalcitrant landlord isn't charmed by much, but apparently Steve's daughter is one of those rare creatures who can get him to do just about anything with a dimpled smile and a big doe-eyed look.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tiptoe like Church Mice

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](http://arukou-arukou.tumblr.com/post/133974893116/currently-untitled).
> 
> For Stony Bingo prompt "kidfic"

“Come on, Sarah, we’ve gotta get going.”

“But Daddy, I can’t find Bucky Bear.”

Steve sighed and turned back into the apartment, struggling to close the crooked door behind him. It finally slid into the swollen frame and he slipped down the hallway. They didn’t have much to begin with, but it seemed that no matter how often he tidied up, 90% of what they owned always ended up in Sarah’s room. He supposed it was her imagination—plates became flying saucers or shields for gallant warriors, spare socks were instant puppets, books were not just tools to read but also flapping birds or fiery dragons or wizened tomes containing magic spells—so he didn’t begrudge her snatching them. Except when the whirlwind of her room swallowed some vitally important object, like his keys or Bucky Bear. 

Sarah was rooting through her closet, but Steve already knew the toy wouldn’t be there. She’d never put Bucky Bear in the dark—he was afraid of it after all. Instead, he thrust one narrow hand into the covers of her bed, rifling through sheets and comforter until his hand encountered a familiar fuzzy lump. “Found him,” he said with a tired grin.

Sarah squealed with joy and took him from Steve’s hand, squeezing him tight. “Do you think Uncle Bucky’s gonna Skype us soon?”

“I’m sure he is, baby. But right now we have to go, ok?”

“Ok, Daddy.” She took Steve’s hand and followed him out into the hallway, helping to lean against the door until it slid shut and Steve could lock it. Across the hall, Steve’s recalcitrant landlord was standing on a step ladder, wrench clenched between his teeth as he worked at some wires recessed behind a ceiling panel. “Mr. Tony!” Sarah cried and ran to the ladder, Bucky Bear trailing from one hand.

Tony grunted around his wrench, shoulders hunching. Steve was never quite sure if it was just Sarah and him in particular that set Tony on edge, or if it was all people. In either case, he hurried after Sarah and scooped her up, holding her tight.

“Sarah, Mr. Tony is busy right now. Why don’t we let him work, alright?”

She pouted, but then looked up at Tony, standing precariously on tiptoe. “Ok. Bye Mr. Tony. See you later.”

Tony grunted, almost an amiable sound, and then dropped one hand to wave non-chalantly. Steve urged Sarah along down the hallway, but at the last moment thought of something. “Uh, Mr. Stark?”

Tony grunted again and removed the wrench from his mouth. “When you get a chance, if you have the time, would you mind looking at our front door. I can usually get it closed, but it’s tough for Sarah to get it on her own, what with the way it’s jamming.”

Brow puckered, Tony looked down at Steve, but then he nodded. “Yeah. I’ll get to it.”

Steve said thanks and turned, nodding. He supposed that would be the best he’d ever get out of their a man who seemed at heart fundamentally misanthropic, so that was that. He turned and started down the hallway, arms already aching with Sarah’s weight. She wasn’t as little as she used to be, and he could feel his lungs tightening up.

“Can you walk, baby?” he asked her, hefting her a little higher in his grip.

Sarah, too intuitive for her own good, looked at him critically. “Daddy, did you forget your inhaler again?”

“Uh…” Steve mentally retraced his steps through the apartment and realized that no, his inhaler was not in his bag. “Maybe?”

“Daddy!”

“Ok, ok. Let me just get it. I’m gonna put you down, ok baby?”

He eased Sarah to the ground and turned assuming she was behind him. It was only when he reached his door that he realized she’d stopped at Tony’s stepladder again, staring up into the hole in the ceiling.

“Can you just…watch her for a minute, Mr. Stark? I’ll be right out.”

Tony grunted, wrench in his mouth again, and Steve took that for assent. He forced the door open and darted inside, heading straight for his bedside table where he always kept his inhaler. Except it wasn’t there. It also wasn’t in his jeans from yesterday, nor was it in his spare backpack. It wasn’t in the bathroom and it wasn’t on the dining table. It wasn’t on their minuscule kitchen counter and it wasn’t on the table beside his armchair. It wasn’t commingling with his drawing supplies and it hadn’t wound up on the bookshelf. Steve sighed and slipped into Sarah’s room, wondering if he’d dropped it in the search for Bucky Bear. Sure enough, it was buried under her pillow, though how it’d gotten there was beyond him. He gathered up the inhaler and dashed back into the hallway only to discover Tony and Sarah sitting on the floor, heads together over something.

“Baby?” Steve said as he forced the apartment door shut.

“Daddy! Mr. Tony is showing me the wire stuff that makes the lights go on and off.”

“Wiring,” Tony mumbled, looking up, looking…sheepish. Steve caught himself thinking it was a good look on Tony.

“Is he now?” Steve said, stepping closer. “Well, I wish we could stay and look more, but I have to get to work, baby. Maybe Mr. Tony can show you more later.”

Sarah pouted but she stood up and gathered Bucky Bear in her arms. “Did you find your inhaler?”

“Yes, baby, I found my inhaler. Now let’s get going. Thank Mr. Tony, ok?”

She grinned, said “Thank you, Mr. Tony,” and grabbed Steve’s hand, dragging him down the hallway to the stairwell. Steve glanced behind him as they went, looking to where Tony remained on the floor, face scrunched and unreadable. It was on the tip of his tongue, something he wanted to say. Another thank you maybe. But then Sarah had him around the corner and clattering down the stairwell and work was waiting. Tony slipped from his mind.

* * *

Swearing slightly, Steve squelched into the apartment building. He was soaked from head to toe, his supplies bag dripping, hair in his eyes, dangerous wheeze in his lungs, and portfolio safe only by the grace of the plastic cover Natasha had insisted on buying him for his last birthday. Wet and miserable, he trudged up the stairs, squishing and dripping unpleasantly as he went. Tony had finished installing the new light in the hallway last week, and the warm golden glow was a welcome sight.

At his door, Steve fumbled for his keys, but it opened before he could get them. He nearly jumped because it didn’t squeak and groan in its frame. It was, in fact, completely silent, smooth and satisfying as a puzzle piece slipping into place. Sarah grinned up at him. “Mr. Tony’s here fixing things!” she said joyfully, and opened the door wider for him.

On the couch, Sam sat with both arms crossed, mouth caught somewhere between exasperation and mirth. He was watching with sharp eyes as Steve’s landlord did battle with the ancient VCR. There was something endearing about the way he gripped tools beneath his teeth, flathead screwdriver waggling as he yanked at a stubborn wire.

“That doesn’t work anymore,” Steve said, dripping just inside the doorway.

Tony mumbled something that sounded like “Nodif-I-bany-fing-du-fay-abou-dit” as Sam stood.

“Jesus, Steve. Did you forget an umbrella again.”

“Didn’t forget,” Steve said with a grimace, wringing out his jacket and setting his portfolio aside. “Wind beat it to a pulp.”

“Jesus Christ Rogers,” Sam muttered, but he set about taking Steve’s bag and coat and setting them over the radiator to dry. From the corner of his eye, Steve could see Tony watching them move, face inscrutable.

“Seriously, Tony,” Steve said, toeing out of his sopping shoes, “it’s fine. We’ve only got three tapes anyway.”

Tony extracted his screwdriver from his mouth and looked to the side, mouth pursed. “She wanted to watch Dora,” he said, waving vaguely in Sarah’s direction.

At that, Sam smirked. “She’s got your landlord twisted around her little finger, this one. He came by to fix the door and next thing I know, he’s leveling your bed and checking the draft in the window and changing out the lightbulbs. All cause she batted her eyelashes at him.”

“Well,” said Steve, sweeping Sarah up and proceeding to squeeze her, “that’s because she takes after her mom.” Sarah giggled up at him, smile wide and eyes sparkling, and then she tousled Steve’s wet hair.

“You’re gonna catch a cold, Daddy. Go change.”

Steve smiled softly at her and kissed her cheek. “Who’s the parent around here, huh? I’m s’posed to be takin’ care’a you. Not the other way around.”

Sarah pouted and crossed her arms, staring at him imperiously. Then she pointed down the hallway. “Go change.”

Unexpectedly from the corner, Tony guffawed and then outright chuckled, hand over his mouth. Steve blinked in awe—he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Tony smile before. He couldn’t help smiling himself and gently eased Sarah back to the floor. “Ok, ok. I’ll be right back out.”

He slipped into his narrow bedroom and quickly shucked his work clothes for a pair of flannel pajama pants and one of Peggy’s old T-shirts. He knew it was all in his head, but sometimes he swore he could still smell her perfume on it.

When he emerged, Tony was packing up his tools and Sam was yanking his coat tight, bandying his umbrella.

“Thanks for watching her, Sam,” Steve said, moving to dig for some cash.

“Don’t you dare pay me,” Sam growled, hitching his scarf over his nose. “I will hurt you, Rogers.” He moved to the door and opened it, glaring back. “Same time next week. Bring me donuts.” And then he was out the eerily silent door.

Steve turned to Tony, who was just closing his toolbox. “Listen, uh. Thank you for looking at the door. And the bed. And everything. You really didn’t have to do that. I can probably chip an extra thirty into next month’s rent if you—“

“Don’t even think about it,” Tony said, face back to its usual scowl.  He made to escape as well, but at the last moment turned back and crouched. “You remember what I told you about the VCR, Sarah?”

She wrinkled her face up in concentration and for a moment, Steve’s heart clenched in his chest. She looked so much like her mother. Then she popped her hand up like she was in class. “Don’t ever touch the green wire. Ever ever. Or things might go boom.”

“That’s right,” Tony said with a nod and a half smile. “And don’t let your dad touch it either. I’ll swing by some other time to get it all set up.”  And with a sharp nod at Steve he was gone.

Sarah leaned out into the hallway to watch him go and then went back in, shutting the door behind her. With a haze of confusion hanging around him, Steve leaned forward and slid the bolt and chain home. He turned to eye the VCR warily, wondering if he should maybe unplug every appliance in the apartment, lest they start a fire.

“Daddy?”

“Yes baby?” Steve said absently, brows still drawn down in contemplation.

“I like Mr. Tony. Can he come over to play?”

Steve blinked at that, and crouched down. “You like him?”

“Uh huh.”

“But he doesn’t like kids,” Steve said, half-teasing, half-serious.

“Nuh uh. He said he thought I was ‘pretty ok for a little rugrat.’”

Steve frowned more deeply at that, but he nodded slowly. “Tell you what. Next time we see Mr. Tony, you can ask him if he wants to come over to play. But he’s a very busy man. He might say no. Is that ok with you?”

Sarah nodded, clapped her hands gleefully, and zipped off to her room. Steve could hear her talking to Bucky Bear, telling him about her day. He glanced at the door again and shrugged. It wasn’t like Tony would say yes to a playdate with a six year-old anyway.


	2. Blind Panic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](http://arukou-arukou.tumblr.com/post/135395139576/blind-panic)
> 
> Written for Stony Bingo prompt "Crossed signals."

The cold November rain turned to snow as Steve trudged down the sidewalk. Another job interview, another letdown, and if Steve can't scrape another sixty bucks together, they’re not going to be able to pay for internet and then he won’t even have his commissions. Some Thanksgiving they’ll have, eating canned beans and hoping Tony doesn’t kick them to the curb.

He slipped into the apartment building and shook himself off, thinking on how he’d spin this one for Sarah. She always knew when interview went poorly, and he couldn’t bear the thought of her disappointed face.

He came to a dripping halt in front of his apartment door and flipped through the keys until he found the door key. He turned the lock, heading inside with the downtrodden step of the eternally overworked. “Sarah? Sam?” he called, setting his keys in the dish by the door. There was silence and Steve’s heart did a flipflop. He shucked his coat and moved through the tiny kitchen to Sarah’s room. The door was open and the light was off. No one. In desperation he tried his room, but it too was empty.

“Sarah!” he called more loudly, feeling the first inklings of panic. He ran back to his bag and fumbled for his phone but the battery was dead, spent out trying to talk a potential client around. “Shit!” Steve said, and turned toward the door. “Shit, shit, shit, shit.” He chanted under his breath as he hurried back into the hallway and knocked on the door across the way. Sharon didn’t answer–probably not even home.

Growing even more and more panicked, Steve worked his way down the hall. Clint was in, but he hadn’t seen Sarah. Mrs. Neeson hadn’t either. No one else was home. Breath growing tight in his chest, Steve headed downstairs and started working his way through those doors. He stumbled and panted through two more floors until at last he was on the first floor, running out of options. He could barely breathe past the panic in his throat, tightening into a painful ball, and he knocked with maybe more force than necessary.

Tony Stark answered the knock with a scowl, and Steve blinked before demanding, “Sarah! Have you seen her? She’s–“

“Daddy!”

Steve blinked and looked past Tony into the apartment. Sarah was sprawled on her belly, a massive screwdriver in hand. She grinned at him and then tossed away whatever she was working on (it looked like some kind of…robot?) and rushed to the door, throwing her arms around Steve’s knees.

He lifted her up into his arms and held her close, squeezing hard. “Oh god, baby. I didn’t know where…thank god you’re ok. Jesus Sarah, you scared me. Thank god you’re ok.”

“You, uh, you look like you could use a drink,” Tony said, and Steve glanced over Sarah’s head at him.

“Why was my daughter in your apartment?” he asked, his voice deadly quiet.

“Your friend Sam said he was going to call you about it. Family emergency. He had to run and I was doing some repairs on your stove, so I said I’d watch her, but I needed to grab some replacement parts from my place, so we came down here and then she wanted to look at Servo and uh…” Tony talked faster and faster, looking more flustered than Steve had ever seen him, and a little of the anger and fear in his heart melted away.

“My phone died. I didn’t know where she was.”

Tony grimaced at that, and lifted a hand to the back of his head. “Sorry about that. We should’ve left a note. I thought we were gonna be down here just a couple of minutes, not…” Tony glanced at the clock and winces, “two hours.”

“You’ve been down here two hours?” Steve said, pulling back so he could look at Sarah’s face. She’d gone quiet and was studying him intently, perhaps guessing more than she should for her age.

“You should take your inhaler,” she said, choosing not to answer his question. “I can hear your lungs going crackle crackle.”

Steve laughed wetly at that, his adrenaline crash hitting him all at once. He slumped a little, suddenly feeling overwhelmed by the weight of Sarah in his arms, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to let her go. Not when the fear was still so close to the surface.

Sarah had other ideas though. She tapped his shoulder and then began sliding down his torso, wriggling through his arms like a slippery fish. He didn’t let her go easily, keeping his hands on her to the very last. The moment she was free, she turned to Tony. “Daddy needs his inhaler and I bet he forgot it in his bag. You made him scared, so you should be the one to go get it.”

Tony glanced between Sarah and Steve, and after a moment Steve nodded, slumping a little more as exhaustion seeped into the cracks where fear and anger had been. Tony nodded in return and then dashed off to the stairwell, his keys jangling from his belt. Sarah looked up at Steve then, and it struck him–as it did nearly every day– that she was the spitting image of Peggy, and the thought made his heart clench.

With a huff and sigh, he turned and slid down the hallway wall, pulling his knees up and resting his wrists on them.

“Mr. Tony didn’t do anything wrong, Daddy. He was really nice.”

Steve gave her a tiny smile, glancing at her through slitted eyes. “I’m sure he was really nice, but daddies still worry when their babies go missing. I didn’t know what had happened to you and sometimes really bad things happen in this city.”

“Really bad like what happened to Mommy?”

Steve grimaced and shut his eyes. “Really bad like what happened to Mommy.”

Sarah touched his cheek and then hugged him, her thin little arms bony against his shoulders. “Come on!” she said after a moment, tugging his wrist. “I wanna show you Servo. He’s really cool. Mr. Tony is letting me tighten all his little screws so he can run.”

Steve followed her at a glacial pace, wincing as he crouched down next to her and the robot.

“Mr. Tony says he’s got a big brother named Dummy. I think that’s kind of a silly name for a robot, but it’s not my robot, so I can’t fix his name. This one’s supposed to clean the air ducts. See?” She held out the robot belly up so Steve could see the fuzzy dust mops and the little clear chamber to hold all the debris. “I think that’s a pretty cool idea. Mr. Tony says it might help your asthma too. That’d be good, right Daddy?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, staring down at the intricate wiring and the neat points of solder. “Where’d Mr. Tony get it?”

“I made it,” Tony said, returning with Steve’s inhaler in hand. He passed it over like it was something delicate and fragile and then watched with a wary eye as Steve wrapped his fingers around the plastic case. Steve was acutely embarrassed that Tony was seeing him like this, but he could feel Sarah’s expectant stare, so he depressed the canister and inhaled, holding up his hand and counting for her with his fingers.

For a few moments, Steve allowed himself the comfort of resting on the floor, but then he sighed and stood up. “Come on, Sarah. We’ve bothered Mr. Tony enough for one day and it’s getting close to bed time for you. Did you eat dinner yet?”

“Uh-huh. Mr. Tony gave me a grilled cheese sandwich.”

“He did, did he?” Steve glanced at Tony who shrugged, his demeanor caught somewhere between gruff and awkward. “Ok. Let’s get you a bath and get you tucked in, then.”

He ushered Sarah to the door and turned to Tony. “I’m sorry about before,” he said as he passed Tony. “I just…”

“You were a terrified parent. I understand. Well, I don’t really understand, but…anyway. Don’t worry about it.”

“And thanks for looking after her. You didn’t have to do that.”

Tony’s expression was almost completely reverted to its usual sourness, but he shrugged and turned back to his apartment. “I’ll stop by later to finish fixing up the oven.”

“Thanks, Mr. Stark,” Steve said, and took Sarah by the hand leading her up the stairs.

“Are you still mad at Mr. Tony, Daddy?”

“I don’t think so, baby.”

“Do you like him?”

Steve blinked at her for a moment, unsure how to take that question. Sarah blinked innocently up at him, but he knew she had an inkling of how the word “like” could be used; she went to school after all.

“He seems like a lonely man,” Steve said finally, giving her the same kind of non-answer she’d given him earlier. He shouldn’t wonder where she learned it.

Sarah hummed and then dashed ahead of him up the steps. Steve followed at a more sedate pace, wondering vaguely if his daughter knew something he didn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://arukou-arukou.tumblr.com/) for more fanfiction and nerdery.


	3. Night Cap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](http://arukou-arukou.tumblr.com/post/135466924951/night-cap).
> 
> Stony Bingo prompt for a picture of Tony Stark in a white undershirt and leather work gloves, arc reactor glowing in his chest.

Steve got Sarah settled into bed and then collapsed at their two person table, staring blankly down and trying to clear his mind. He still had a commission to sketch up by Thursday, so he couldn’t afford to sleep just yet, but everything from earlier had just wiped him out completely. With a sigh, he heaved himself out of his chair and went to grab his notebook, still haphazardly splayed by the door along with his bag. Just as he was gathering it up, there was a quiet knock. Steve froze and then leaned forward to glance through the peephole.

Tony Stark stood there, cardboard box in hand, looking simultaneously surly and sheepish. Steve blinked twice and then leaned back to open the door.

“Mr. Stark?”

“I’ve babysat your daughter. Tony, please. Mr. Stark was my father.”

“Did, did Sarah forget something in your apartment, or…”

“No. I wanted to come apologize again. I know I really scared the crap out of you and that was never my intention. I was just gonna finish fixing your stove if that’s alright by you.”

Steve frowned and glanced at the clock. “At 9 o’clock at night?”

“Uh…” Tony blinked and looked down at his box and then back up. “I hadn’t really…um…”

With a sigh, Steve stood aside. “If you can do it quietly, you’re welcome to do it now. Sarah’s asleep, but she wakes up easily, so just be careful.”

Tony nodded and slipped inside, edging over to the oven and settling down. Steve stared at him for a moment, with his leather work gloves and his threadbare tank top, and then turned back to the table, settling down with his sketchbook.

He’d just roughed in the forms of a superhero when Tony said, “She’s a smart little girl.”

Steve hummed and erased a thigh. “She loves numbers,” he said, almost like he was thinking out loud rather than making conversation. “Must’a got that from her mother. I was always more of a history and literature kind of a guy. And art, too.”

“She figured out Servo’s circuits in no time flat. Impressive.”

“It looked like a pretty neat robot. Thanks for letting her mess with it. I know you said you made it, but that just...did you alter it or something? Was it a roomba? I’ve never heard of a duct cleaning robot before.”

There was a thunk and a soft curse and Steve immediately turned to Sarah’s room to see if she would wake. After thirty seconds of dead silence, Tony began moving inside the oven again. “It's not altered,” he grunted, muscles straining as he reached deep inside the belly. "Made from scratch."

“From scratch? Everything?”

“Every last little circuit.”

Steve’s pencil froze over the page and he looked over at Tony, head and shoulders deep in the ancient oven, wriggling as he worked on whatever problem he’d found. “You made that?”

Tony grunted and swore again, sliding out of the oven a bit. He was sweating and Steve couldn’t help but note that the sheen was not unappealing. Tony ran a hand over his forehead and then switched out tools. “Yeah, I made it. Hobby.”

“Hobby that’ll make you rich. You’d better hurry and patent it.”

Tony frowned up at Steve, his mouth pursing, eyes glinting. “You really don’t recognize me?”

“Uh, is this a trick question? You’re my landlord.”

“The name Tony Stark doesn’t ring any bells?”

“Not exactly, no. I feel like I’m missing something important here.” Steve glanced up with a wary grin as he smoothed over a bicep on the page of his drawing. Tony’s musculature, now that he was looking, was actually a pretty handy reference, and it meant he didn’t have to dig out his claptrap of a laptop.

Tony stared suspiciously at Steve a moment longer and then shrugged. “Huh…well, it doesn’t matter. I’m not interested in being rich. If I was, I sure as heck wouldn’t be the landlord of some walk-up in Brooklyn.”

He slipped back inside the oven and for another stretch there was comfortable silence. Steve was surprised to find he liked it. Without Peggy, the nights sometimes grew unbearably lonely, and Steve never said anything about it, but he knew that was why Sam or Nat occasionally stayed the night, crowded onto Steve’s miserable mattress and making him feel a little less alone in the world.

At last, Tony slid free of the oven and pulled his work gloves off, tossing them in the box. Steve glanced up, and the glint beneath Tony’s thin tank top caught his eye. He’d noticed it before, seeing Tony around the building on occasion, but it never seemed so bright in the light of day. Now it nearly glowed.

Tony glanced down, following Steve’s gaze, and grimaced. “That’s uh…little memento. From another life. Don’t mind it.” He stretched up, and Steve found himself staring for a very different reason.

With a sigh, Tony bent down and dug into his box again. “The oven’s all done, but I still owe you a drink.” He came up with two bottles of beer, holding one expectantly to Steve.

“You don’t have to do that, Tony. You’ve already done so much around the apartment.”

“Take the damn beer.”

Steve sighed and accepted the warm bottle. “I’ve got a bottle opener around her somewhere.”

Tony waved his hand and held out a pair of flathead pliers. With a deft twist of wrist, both caps were gone, and Tony settled across from Steve in a lazy sprawl. He sipped his bottle for a moment and then glanced down at Steve’s drawing pad. Steve stiffened, but didn’t move to hide his work; he’d never been ashamed by his art before and he wasn’t about to start now.

“Your’e pretty good at that.”

“I’m nothing special.”

The silence between them was still easy–the same kind of silence Steve shared with Bucky when he was on this side of the Atlantic. It made something in Steve’s shoulders loosen and ease, a muscle he didn’t know he’d been clenching.

“So, I’m a tactless bastard.”

Steve glanced up and clenched his jaw. “Go on. Ask.”

“What happened to her mom?”

“She was a cop. Got into a firefight and didn’t get back out.”

Tony frowned and looked away. “Sorry. That’s…it sucks.”

“We both knew the risks when she decided to go back to the force after Sarah was born. We both knew.”

Tony sipped from his beer again and leaned forward in his chair, elbows on his knees as he stared into Steve’s living room. “Seems rough, just you and her.”

“It can be. But I’ve got good friends. They help me out when they can. And Sarah’s the best gift. I wouldn’t trade her for the world.”

Tony smiled wryly at that, the corner of his mouth hitching up rakishly, and Steve was once again struck by the fact that his landlord was a good looking man when he didn’t look like he’d been sucking a lemon. “You can ask me a tactless question if you want. Seems fair.”

Steve snorted at that and went back to roughing in the costume. He let it hang for a while, occasionally sipping at his warm beer. Finally he said, “You seem like you don’t like kids. Or anyone really.”

Tony stiffened a little, eyes flickering sharply at Steve, and then shrugged. “It’s not that I don’t like them–kids anyway. It’s that I don’t know what to do with them. I was an only child and always around adults, and my parents were not exactly shining examples of ‘How to Raise a Child.’ So hand me a kid and I panic a little. But I like ‘em. They’re better than adults in a lot of ways.”

“So you don’t like people?”

Tony’s expression darkened and he took a long pull on his beer. “Been burned a lot. It’s hard to like people after a while. Good way to get hurt.”

“Good way to get lonely, too.”

Steve was watching Tony now, watching the way his face shifted in the low light from the countertop fixture. “Suppose so,” Tony said finally, the corners of his mouth and eyes downturned. Steve suddenly wanted to see him smile again. He started reaching across the table, unthinking, when Sarah peeked out from her bedroom.

“Daddy?”

Both Steve and Tony looked at her, alert like wary animals hearing a noise in the woods. Tony stood before Steve did, and then looked sheepishly back, hands awkward at his sides.

“What do you need, baby?”

“What’s Mr. Tony doing here?”

“He came to finish fixing the stove.” Steve rose as well and glanced at his sketch. The linework was nearly done. Steve could ink it tomorrow.

“Are we gonna have a sleepover?”

Steve and Tony shared a glance, and Steve was gratified to see red race across Tony’s cheeks, though he was blushing probably just as badly. “I don’t think so, baby. I think he’s gonna go sleep in his own bed, just like you.”

“Can I hear the song?”

Steve sighed and shuffled to her door. “If I sing the song, do you promise to go to bed?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Then you can hear the song.”

Behind Steve, Tony was gathering up his tools back into his cardboard box. “Goodnight, Mr. Tony,” Sarah said, Bucky Bear clutched at her side. Tony smiled down at her, soft and genuine and incredibly beautiful, and for the first time in years it seemed, Steve thought he’d like to kiss someone.

“Goodnight, Sarah.”

Tony shuffled to the front door and looked back. “Night, Steve.”

“Night, Tony.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://arukou-arukou.tumblr.com/) for more fanfiction and nerdery.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://arukou-arukou.tumblr.com/) for more fanfiction and nerdery.


End file.
